


Broken Soul

by L56895



Series: Old writings [3]
Category: The Fall (2006)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27067669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L56895/pseuds/L56895
Summary: Evelyn pays a visit to the man who had captured Alexandria’s imagination.
Relationships: Evelyn/Roy Walker
Series: Old writings [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1972534





	Broken Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently back in 2011 I wrote this for a porn battle. I don’t particularly ship these two, I love this film for completely different reasons... but here it is regardless!

Evelyn was never sure why he looked at her so strangely when she passed the adult ward; the man with two broken legs and a near-shattered spine. But there he was, whenever she passed on her way to the laundry room, staring at her as if he knew some deep dark secret. Maybe it was the way the two of them seem so connected to Alexandria, like the father and aunt she didn’t have, that he felt a certain affinity with her.  
  
She didn’t even know his name until Alexandria showed her the picture of the two of them- him as a masked bandit and she as his child side-kick- and Evelyn had pointed lightly to the scrawl in the sky.  
  
 _“What does this say?”_ she had asked gently.  
  
 _“Roy, he is my friend,”_ the little girl had replied simply, hopping off of the bed with her bad arm held carefully out in front of her and wandering with amazing sense of purpose, for a child who should be so lost and confused in the strange hospital, towards the adult ward.  
  
She was easy to probe for curiosities of information, and Evelyn found herself more and more, when she was tucking the coarse sheets up to little Alexandria’s chin, asking about her masked bandit.  
  
 _“He is very sad.”_  
  
 _”Why? Why is he sad?”_  
  
 _”I don’t know, but the girl, she’s sad too. The girl with the locket.”_  
  
Yet further prompting had gained nothing from Alexandria, who simply curled onto her side with her arm propped up on a splint and closed her eyes; her box of treasures stored safely away in the cabinet beside her. It was tempting to glance through the treasures within, and Evelyn drew her fingertips away from the lid hastily when she realised the foolishness of invading a child’s secrets simply to find out more about a man she had never met.  
  
It took Evelyn a week to finally cross the threshold into the ward that was not her domain and sit lightly down on the wicker chair at the side of his bed. He was sat in his usual position, propped up against the coarse pillows, and said nothing to her as she entered, but watched her carefully as she crossed the room. She cast her eye over the room around them and frowned.  
  
“Where are the others?” she gestured the empty beds.  
  
“Outside, they can walk you know.”  
  
Evelyn felt a slight flush in her cheeks but ignored the bitter tone in his voice, instead asking the first question that entered her mind.  
  
“Can you feel anything there?”  
  
He frowned but she held his gaze steadfast.  
  
“Does it matter?”  
  
“No, but I’m asking anyway.”  
  
“Nothing from my thighs down.”  
  
“So, you can still…?” she let the question hang in the air. If he was surprised by her impertinence he hid it well, shrugging with a disinterested expression.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“How does it feel to have me here?”  
  
“Why?” he said bitterly, “You want to ride a cripple?”  
  
“That wasn’t why I came here…”  
  
“But that’s not a no.”  
  
The exchange ended abruptly when he reached out to grip her wrist. She lurched forward, not through the violence of his pull but from surprise, but steadied herself before she toppled into his lap. She looked up slowly and straight into his eyes, finding his expression not angry, but tired.  
  
“I don’t want your pity,” he growled, throwing her arm back at her.  
  
She rose hastily from her wicker chair but he had closed his eyes and seemed not to notice. Yet his careful, measured breathing told a different story; he was listening to her, she could tell, and every footstep back towards the ward door became almost an embarrassment.  
  
When she pushed the door closed and there was the soft thud of wood on wood he opened his eyes and frowned at her.  
  
“What are you doing?” he asked quietly and she noticed his hands draw closer to his crotch, bunching up the blankets into a mound, and his cheeks gained colour.  
  
“Just sit back,” she said without any attempt of authority in her voice, yet he obeyed like she had barked an order, his eyes wide and slightly concerned. With only a slight warmth about her cheeks she reached down to the buttons of her overalls and tugged them open, from the hem to her waist, and pulled at the ties of her panties to let them slid down onto the floor.  
  
He let the blanket slip from his fingers and she helped him pull it back, down to his knees, and clambered onto the bed. His hospital clothes were the same worn out type they had always used and the ties of his trousers almost fell open in her hands. She wondered briefly if he was cold at night, wearing only a shroud of cotton and a few coarse blankets; but a memory, quick and fleeting, brought her images of wiping the sweat from her brow as she sat in the children’s ward on her night shift. The hospital was never cold, only stifling, and she felt suddenly free as she mounted him and heard him gasp, the sound dampened by his attempts to clamp his jaw shut and silence himself.  
  
She saw the strain in his face as he tried to sit up for her, to wrap his arms around her waist, but she pushed him back against the pillows and straightened her spine.  
  
“Lie back,” she whispered and was surprised when her voice came out on a low rumble. She cleared her throat and hummed gently, soothingly, keeping her fingertips pressed lightly against his chest. As she rocked herself slowly against him he lifted his chin, pressed his head deep down into the pillows and groaned.  
  
“There,” she soothed, reaching forward to cup his cheek with her fingers. He opened his eyes slightly at her touch and she thought she might have seen him mouth _thank you_ to her. But then his eyes were closed again, his face screwed up as if in frustration and she quickened her pace.  
  
When his hand grasped at her waist and he spluttered incoherently she wondered what she had been expecting from the encounter; to help soothe his loneliness, even for just a few brief minutes? Or to come closer to understanding this strange man who, while he had captured the heart and imagination of one broken little girl, had sought to push away every other soul he came into contact with.


End file.
